


The Seven Golden Rules For Non-Heteronormative Couples (1950’s Edition)

by SilverShortyyy



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 13:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverShortyyy/pseuds/SilverShortyyy
Summary: Some rules Carol can follow. Some rules Therese can’t follow. But love is a heady feeling, intoxicating as it is grounding.Some rules Carol doesn’t want to follow. And sometimes Therese is the best way to help her break them.Is it worth it? Maybe it was all worth it from the start.





	The Seven Golden Rules For Non-Heteronormative Couples (1950’s Edition)

_“ **Rule Number 1: Only tell those you can trust.** ”_

Carol would’ve never told Harge if she hadn’t married him. Hadn’t been in the middle of a divorce with him. Would’ve never told someone she used to love who she loves now. Because that’s how it is, isn’t it? He had no right to know who she became after him, because his part in her life was over, and if not for all the complications that followed after her relationship—her _marriage_ —with him, he wouldn’t even know a single detail about who she went to bed with nor who she’d like to spend the rest of her life with now.

But he knew because Carol would have never hidden it. Affairs and trysts are that which are hidden beneath the veil of night. But this? No, she wouldn’t dare hide it, not even in plain sight.

Harge had guessed right, anyway, way back when he had his first glance at Therese.

But before that, oh before that! She’d have thought he was one to be trusted. She loved him way back when, after all.

_“So you’re telling me you’re… What, sick?”_

_“No, Harge, I’m telling you I am as capable as you are—or even more so, to be damn honest—when it comes to loving women.”_

_“And how exactly are you seeing this in rose-colored lighting?”_

_“Abby and I—“_

But, Carol thinks, if what she had with Abby was love, then what she has with Therese would transcend space and time altogether.

What was so different about it anyway? Love between two women? Wasn’t love supposed to stay the same no matter what conditions surrounded it?

_“Then if it really isn’t so different, why does everyone else make it sound like people like you are sick?”_

_“People like me—! I don’t know, Harge! But I am **not** sick!”_

Therese, on the other hand, is lucky to have a little less people surrounding her, no mother nor father nor ex-husband nor daughter to keep secrets from. Therese always gets surprised, though, whenever Dannie seems to be completely unaware of the collective opinion. He could tell, Therese knew, at the first glance of her photos of Carol all those months ago that she wasn’t like everyone else.

And yet he talked about it the same way one would talk about breakfast, talked about her and Carol the same way one would talk about a man and a woman.

_“So good it sounds to be in love.”_

_“You don’t seem to mind though. That I’m in love with Carol.”_

_“Why should I? What does it matter if you love Carol, or Richard, or a woman, or a man?”_

But Richard was never so kind. His family had been saddened by the news, as if she got cancer; Richard’s fianceé had gone off with a woman! Oh pity, pity, and oh how devastating it must be for poor Richard, to have loved a woman lost to insanity.

Insanity?

And yet, Therese had never been more sane, more alive.

Insanity, she thinks, is being grounded in such a dull world that one would seem to bury themself alive.

Then there were others. Others who’d hear from a loose tongue or an inebriated mouth. Carol Aird? With a woman? Impossible. Carol and Hargess divorced because they’d fallen out of love, didn’t they? It would be best for the girl, after all—Rindy, was it?—if she would grow up not listening to her parents arguing every other night. Therese Belivet? With a woman? Oh no, Richard Semco probably only spread _those_ rumors because he’d been hurt by her decision. Who wouldn’t? But she’d grown out of him and he felt abandoned without a warning. He should have seen it coming though. He was her boyfriend after all, wasn’t he?

Carol and Therese think they are still luckier than most though. Others don’t end up lucky enough to have more than one other person to depend on.

Rindy would find out one day. Therese keeps Carol from thinking about what might happen when Rindy finds out.

_“ **Rule Number 2: The sick ~~and queer~~ are not allowed to get jobs for healthy ~~, non-queer~~ people. One must either avoid those jobs or pretend one isn’t sick.** ”_

_“Who’s that woman coming to pick you up every now and then?”_ One of Therese’s colleagues had asked her once. A man. Once when she had been packing up her things while Carol waited by the door. They always ended up asked Therese; how did a beauty like Carol end up here? And Therese would always want to tell them it was because Carol came there for _her_ , to pick up no one else but _her_ , Therese. But Carol had told Therese they’d have to settle.

 _“Oh, that’s…” My lover. My partner. My woman._ But the two of them could never be an actual couple in the public eye. Why? Carol hadn’t wanted to say, but Therese understood. _“... Just my friend.”_

What a bitter taste it left in Therese’s mouth.

_“Well, could you introduce me sometime?”_

_“Oh, I don’t think she wants to start seeing anybody any time soon.” She already has me,_ Therese had wanted to say. _“Or any time, really.”_

 _“Oh, well.”_ Well, indeed. _“My, that’s unfortunate.”_

And unfortunate it is. All of it. Especially on the occasions when Carol brought Therese along to business functions or social gatherings and they’d have to pretend, pretend for six hours minimum for God’s sake, that they were just roommates, or friends, or anything but who they really were to each other.

Who they really _are_  to each other.

 _“Might you allow me to whisk her away then?”_ A man had once asked Carol. Anyone would have thought that look in Carol’s face was amusement. Barely hidden, shining through her eyes. But Therese could see clearly what it really was. Carefully crafted, beautifully faked. And beneath it all, a subtle twitch in Carol’s eye. Irritation—no, something almost _anger_ , at the man, at the conversation, at the _world_ —but also something Therese found to calm her down, to keep her indignation from getting riled up.

Something that endeared Therese very much.

 _She is mine and no one else’s._ That’s what Carol’s eyes said.

_“Oh no. I mustn't. I’ve grown quite attached to Therese here; her absence in our apartment feels quite strange, oh very strange indeed.”_

Then it would be Therese’s turn to play the part. No, she didn’t wish for Carol to be left alone in the apartment. Yes, she’d love to meet some time, but she is quite the busy woman. At worst, she had to play the pity card: she had just broke up with her fiancé—not too long ago, or at least, for her it felt like such (though what felt not too long ago was finding Carol, not breaking up with Richard)—and was not ready for another commitment.

Carol and Therese always went home tired in those days. From acting, from playing pretend.

From having to hide all the damn time.

_“ **Rule Number 3: Keep to yourselves as much as possible.** ”_

Carol often loathes her beauty. It usually causes her to be the center of attention, for both men and women, and it’s quite hard to avoid empty spots of time when arriving exactly on time for an auction seems almost impossible. And so she endures, small talk and other talk, mostly the same lines just said over and over again.

_“Your husband not working long enough hours?”_

_“Oh, so would you oblige me by taking me to dinner?”_

_“Where are my manners? I should’ve asked you about something like cooking instead. It must be rough knowing the marriage couldn’t work out. My husband and I promised we wouldn’t let it get to that. Now here we are, five years and counting.”_

_“Where’d you buy that perfume? It’s absolutely divine!”_

They all blend into the same wave of white noise at some point, and when that happens, it had gotten easier to smile and laugh and nod, albeit Carol never really listened. What was she to listen to? Life stories? Small talk? She often wished she didn’t have to work, that she could just run away with Therese and they’d pop up somewhere in the world every other day, maybe find themselves in France one day and in Russia the next.

Carol played the part anyway; her money would run out if she spent it so recklessly.

Therese relishes her own quiet demeanor and Dannie’s almost constant presence. He visited her often, and he’d already sworn to Carol he wouldn’t touch her. Instead, he posed as Therese’s ‘partner’. The story went that they were extremely close friends who could be lovers if it weren’t for their teenage-like anxiety of ‘what if my feelings aren’t returned?’

They played the part quite well. The men usually stayed clear of Therese, and only sometimes talked to her.

_“I could keep you company when Dannie’s not around. I’ll make sure no one steals you away before he can.”_

_“Sandwich? No? Alright then. My girlfriend made them for me; they’re the best conversation starter for me, to be honest.”_

The women tended to gush about her and Dannie, and she’d have to pretend it was Carol instead, because with Dannie she never blushed, never giggled, never got embarrassed the way she did with Carol.

_“Oh, I bet he’d be the perfect lover for you in bed!”_

_“He’s so perfect for you! And the looks he gives you! Oh, how can you not see it? Oh, what an adorable couple!”_

_“Therese, just tell him. He probably feels the same! Believe us! Believe us!”_

Therese would blush, but she would think of ‘she’ instead of ‘he’; of that first night and the nights that came after with Carol under the sheets with her, Carol’s lips on her, their heartbeats in sync; of her and Carol filling up each other’s missing puzzle pieces, of Carol walking out more often, and her, Therese, less often forgetting to eat while working on a project because Carol would set an alarm and snatch away the beer especially when Therese didn’t hear the _ding_ of the alarm; of the way Carol’s eyes watch her, so deep and beautiful and gray, and she wonders how storm clouds always look so ominous when Carol’s eyes look almost silver, and Therese would stare Carol down when Therese catches Carol looking, but Carol would just smirk, and say those words Therese would come to remember for eternity, “ _my angel, flung out of space_ ”; of Carol saying those three words, “ _I love you_ ”, and of Therese knowing full well that no one could ever feel what she feels for Carol, and what Carol feels for her.

No man and woman could feel this way. No, it was— _is_ —something that only Carol and Therese could ever have.

So they play the part. Then they come home, and the curtains fall around them. The whole world could be watching from beyond the window panes but they wouldn’t care, couldn’t care, because they have each other, and there couldn’t be anything that mattered more.

_“ **Rule Number 4: Keep as many date nights away from the public eye as possible.** ”_

_“Shall I meet you downstairs at the Thirty-Fourth Street entrance at about twelve?”_

Carol and Therese did start out meeting just in sight of the public eye. But no one paid them mind then, though they had already been a little odd. People see odd things every day, so maybe they blended in with everyday New York oddities.

A stunning blonde woman in a fur coat dining with a shy, quaint girl dressed in what well-wedded women would call just past the threshold of fashionably tasteless.

But they had faded in with the shadows.

_“Where are we headed, Dannie?”_

_“Oh, just some fancy dinner place—“_

_“You’re taking me to dinner?”_

Carol had a penchant for surprises. And thanks to Dannie, it was particularly easy to surprise Therese after work.

_“I didn’t say that.”_

_“... Did Carol ask you to do this?”_

Dannie had suppressed a smile, obviously amused at the couple’s similar tendency to sound so surprised at such a thing so obvious.

_“I didn’t say that either.”_

As Carol had a car, Therese didn’t have the opportunity that Carol had to use Dannie. So instead, she tended to have to resort to more creative ways.

The thing is, when either of them did this kind of surprise, they never ended up in anyone’s apartment.

 _“And who gave you the idea that putting me on a scavenger hunt for pieces of paper would actually work?”_ Carol had tried to look indignated. Therese had just laughed, her heart fluttering at the sight of Carol biting down her lower lip, trying to keep the smile from fully realizing itself.

To be fair, Therese’s plan had a possibility of failing. At least thirty percent probably. But Dannie was Dannie and knew all the best places that physics and statistics would give Therese her best chances, so she followed Dannie’s advice.

Therese had set out a picnic for her and Carol, a blanket set atop the grass, the world laid down for them to view past the cliff. Carol had been standing between two trees when she finally let her smile bloom.

_“So? Will we have dinner or not?”_

_“Did you cook?”_

_“I can’t cook as well as you, Carol.”_

_“So I cooked?”_

_“Technically, yes.”_

Carol had laughed then had fallen onto the blanket, one arm pushing Carol up from beside Therese. Carol had smiled and Therese had smiled, and dare they say even the night sky had smiled.

_“I love you, darling.”_

_“And **I** love **you**.”_

_“ **Rule Number 5: Don’t ever hold hands in public.** ”_

Therese hates the summer.

During the summers, there is no coat to forget at home, no gloves to be left on the kitchenette countertop, no uncontrollable shivering that could only be stopped by burying oneself in someone else’s fur coat.

During the summers, Therese has to keep an inch away from Carol. An inch! And so Therese doesn’t particularly like the summers, though at least it means more people go off to get away from New York than to get to New York, so the streets aren’t as crowded and the stores aren’t like tsunamis of people.

_“What book do you want, Therese?”_

_“Hm?”_

_“This one, or this one?”_

Carol had held the two books up, and of course she didn’t miss the momentary flash of shy mischief in dark hazel eyes, but of course she had brushed it off. Though, of course she had found herself flashing an uncontrollable smirk upon spotting the glint of mischief, and of course she’d bitten her lip down to keep the smirk away.

 _“Well,”_ And Therese had walked over. The summer wasn’t so hot, but it wasn’t a season for fur coats and multiple layers of clothing. A dress is enough, yes, and possible a thin cotton sweater over it. Carol hadn’t missed the way Therese’s eyes flicked onto the sweater draped over her shoulders before letting a hand fall onto Carol’s left, fingers purposely slipping between Carol’s. _“I think I’d like this book.”_

Carol’s eyes softened, but with that amused, mischievous glint that the two of them often shared.

‘ _It’s us against the world_ ’ and all that whatnot. They’d change it bit by bit.

 _“Alright.”_ And as they walked toward the counter, they had carried that one book, taking advantage of such a pathetic excuse to keep their hands from parting and their fingers from slipping away from each other.

They had smiled, and the trepidation had faded, because they were— _are_ —together, and no one could possibly break them apart now or ever again.

With that, they love the winter.

Carol still wears the fur coat, and as Therese would ‘recklessly leave her apartment without making sure she was fully clothed for such a cold day’, they’d have to make do and Therese would slip into Carol’s fur coat. The contact had first been awkward, then silly, then nothing but laughable as they realized the ones around them hadn’t thought what Carol and Therese thought they were thinking. No, the ones they passed on the street simply thought ‘oh, such silly friends, such reckless and wild spirits’.

And so Therese had taken to ‘forgetting’ her coat more often, and Carol had let Therese huddle inside her fur coat almost every winter day they met.

Carol would breathe in Therese’s hair when she thought no one was looking, and Therese would slip her fingers between Carol’s on their walk home.

_“What if someone’s watching?”_

_“Let them watch. They’re just jealous.”_

They would laugh through the lie, and for a moment, they would believe those words as if it were truth.

_“ **Rule Number 6: Don’t ever kiss in public.** ”_

Therese likes taking walks. Through the gravel paths of parks or on grassy floors beneath foliage, through the populated streets of the city or the barely punctuated stretches in the country; she simply likes taking walks. Most times, she finds herself taking walks if not just before dusk, then in the late afternoon. The sun is almost always still up when Therese wandered, always enough light to cast even the faintest of shadows.

Carol, meanwhile, hadn’t really got a preference. What she preferred, as the days and weeks and months unveiled to Therese, is driving. Though, Carol never wandered like Therese, never actually sought the scenic silence that Therese found herself looking for. Instead, Carol might mostly spend her days indoors, doing whatever the world permitted with so many books and so many records and so many things to do at home.

But was there really much to do? Carol found that she preferred walking out with Therese.

 _“We’ll walk after dusk, before dinner.”_ Therese would have frowned if she wasn’t so curious as to why Carol would want to walk all of a sudden, let alone after dark. _“I think that would might be a nice time to stargaze, at least if we’re to walk around while we do.”_

Later, they had found themselves in the middle of the empty park, the night sky only barely showing stars beyond the clouds.

 _“It will probably rain tomorrow, don’t you think?”_ But Therese had found Orion, and Carol had seen other stars, all from where they had stood in the middle of the silent, empty park.

Therese remembers looking up and wanting to reach past the clouds, to hold the stars in her hand and be able to marvel at them without craning her head and looking up. Then she remembers a warm palm with a pulse beating into her wrist, a sharp pull making her look back, and warm lips pressing onto hers in the middle of the park.

Therese had turned to face Carol completely then, had lifted her palm onto Carol’s cheek, and had pressed her lips further onto Carol’s.

_“I thought you were starting to forget I was standing right behind you.”_

_“How could I forget you’re with me?”_

_“ **Rule Number 7: You can’t ever marry.** ”_

Carol thinks of films and novels and women dreaming of quiet houses in suburbia, a garden to tend to and a husband to wait for. There’d be a dog in the shed and a little girl and a little boy to tend to after their school. The maid would be a dear, and the husband would come home and it would all be happy, harmonious and dreamy and happy.

But then, Carol thinks, could she think of her future like that?

Therese is off picking the ingredients for tonight’s dinner, and Carol would have gone to help Therese if not for Therese demanding otherwise before they left the apartment.

 _“I’ll buy, I’ll cook, and you’re only coming with me.”_ Therese had said while Carol went to fix her bag. _“I think I’ve gotten quite better at cooking, so I’ll fix something special up.”_

It’s Therese’s birthday today.

 _“Shouldn’t I be the one to cook for you?”_ Carol had dared ask, and so she received a frown played against her smirk.

_“I want to cook today. Something special, and something to test out if I’ve learned anything from you in the kitchen.”_

_“Alright then, if you say so.”_ And they had ventured out to go buy the ingredients for tonight’s dinner.

Carol had told Therese she’ll wait here instead, out of the aisles, so that the dish would be a little more of a surprise. She knows how much her angel liked to spoil her, and so she’s letting Therese have this one.

Carol thinks about the future.

She sees Therese, and maybe they’d move into someone’s apartment, or maybe they’d move out and own a house together. Maybe they’d just end up selling their apartments and finding a better one, with a lot more space and a lot less wallpaper screaming an ad interim life. Carol thinks of Dannie and Abby during Christmas Day; her and Therese on Christmas Eve; her and Therese alone one New Year, maybe going west again, or flying east over to France for a week; of Rindy growing up and growing to love Therese; of half-hearted hiding after realizing that people don’t actually care as much as they sound to.

Carol thinks of Therese, of Therese in the morning with her brown hair sticking up in all the ways, thirsty for a cup of coffee then hungry for a bite of toast, of Therese at night tired after a long day’s labor, but instantly finding energy at the mere sight of Carol, hazel eyes lighting up once they meet Carol’s gray ones, smile warming at a touch from Carol’s hand.

“Excuse me, but may I just ask who you’re staring at?” Carol doesn’t quite recognize the voice. A man? A woman? Did it matter?

“She’s…” Carol’s voice fades, and Therese looks over to her from the end of the aisle, smiling and waving and Carol smiles and waves back. “... Someone special.”

_My wife-to-be._

Carol thinks of a small velvet box she hides in the corner of her handbag, and a small piece of country Abby had once told her about.

Therese goes off to pay for the ingredients while thinking of a small velvet box hidden at the bottom of her dresser.


End file.
